


Outcasts

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M, carylydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl ZA. Lydia. Post Season 10.  She was an outcast.  But, then, they were all a bunch of outcasts, anyway.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Outcasts

AN: This is a little one shot that I got in response to my request for prompts. This person wanted a little Caryl and Lydia. 

I own nothing from The Walking Dead, as always.

I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol felt every muscle in her body stiffen when she heard the latch on the door disengage.

“I thought I locked that,” she said, not turning around to see who had entered her temporary room. She kept her back to whomever it was. She dipped the cloth into the water she’d poured from the pitcher that she’d brought up. She wrung out the excess water and touched it to her face, blindly wiping away the dirt, blood, and tears that were caked there because she couldn’t bring herself to look into a mirror.

If whoever had opened the door had come to kill her, she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to fight it. She was tired.

“It wasn’t locked.” 

The response came back softly. It was barely more than a whisper. The sound of the voice—immediately identifiable—made Carol’s heart practically stop in her chest.

Alexandria was the last place left undestroyed. 

The Kingdom was gone. Hilltop was nothing more than ash. 

And they all blamed Carol for every last loss that they’d suffered. 

Maybe she deserved it, too.

She was, without a doubt, to blame for the death of Lydia’s mother. Negan had been the one to take Alpha’s head, but he’d done it with Carol’s help. 

One thing that Negan and Carol could agree on was that it was wrong to kill children. It was wrong to kill, perhaps, no matter who the victim was, but it was a different kind of murder when children were involved. 

Alpha had taken Carol’s son. She’d taken his head. She’d displayed it on a pike for everyone to find, and Carol was almost certain that she’d never sleep again without the visions of Sophia and Henry’s faces—both of them having turned. 

Alpha’s turned head, rolling around on the ground at her feet was less of a comfort than Carol had wanted it to be when Negan had dropped it there, hoping for some praise from her. The vision of Alpha’s head hadn’t taken the pain away. It hadn’t brought Henry back. He was every bit as gone as Sophia was. He was as gone as Lizzie and Mika, too. 

He was as gone as Carol’s dreams of ever having what she most wanted in the whole world—what she’d always wanted—a loving family and a happy home. 

Perhaps her dream wasn’t very lofty, and maybe there were many women who would tell her that she should want much more out of life than to simply be a mother and a wife, but Carol had experienced a great deal of the “other” in life, and she most hungered to be a wife—particularly to a man who was capable of loving her, the real her, just as she really was—and a mother. 

Alpha had murdered the last hazy remnants of that dream.

And Negan had dropped her head at Carol’s feet. He’d wanted to be rid of Alpha as much as anyone else, but he’d also dreamed that Carol could provide him with something. He’d dreamed that Carol could provide him with, perhaps, forgiveness from the community. Maybe he thought that she could provide him with some kind of second chance to make a place for himself with the other survivors.

Maybe she’d let him believe that so that he’d do what she needed him to do in case she failed to do so as quickly as she’d wanted. 

The truth was that Carol was, honestly, a greater outcast than Negan, at the moment. 

Everyone blamed her for every loss they’d ever suffered. They hated her. Everyone hated her. And, perhaps, they had every right to do so.

The teenager standing quietly behind Carol had more reason than most to hate her. Carol wasn’t sorry for her mother’s death.

“Don’t you knock?” Carol responded, careful to keep her back to Lydia. She mopped at her face with the still damp cloth. The mess was still caked on there and, more than that, there were fresh, salty tears that were dropping down her cheeks, silently and without explanation. 

“I wasn’t exactly raised with manners,” Lydia said, only somewhat apologetically.

Carol swallowed down the unexpected wave of humor that rose up in her tight throat. 

“I’m sorry—you lost your mother,” Carol said. “I need you to understand that—that I don’t mean to say that I’m sorry she’s dead. I’m not. I only mean that—I’m sorry you lost your mother.” 

“I lost my mother a long time ago,” Lydia offered in the same soft voice, like she was almost afraid to really give sound to her words.

“I’m sorry for that, too,” Carol offered. She dipped the rag back into the water. She squeezed it out and mopped at her face again. The cool water felt good. 

“I’m sorry—you lost your children,” Lydia said. “Daryl told me about—your daughter.” 

Carol’s heart seized up in her chest and, for just a split second, she focused on breathing. After all this time, her head still spun a little when she thought about losing Sophia. It was only compounded by the pain that she’d endured since then. 

“It was a long time ago,” Carol said.

“And then Henry,” Lydia said. Carol knew the teenager didn’t mean to make it feel like she’d been stabbed through the heart with an ice pick. Carol knew how teenagers could be. She knew how Henry could be. Sometimes what they said was accidental. They weren’t experienced enough to understand all the implications of their words.

“There’s no use talking about it,” Carol said. “It won’t change anything. Nothing—nothing changes anything.” 

“Sometimes you just want to talk about it,” Lydia offered. Carol didn’t respond. Instead, she rested the rag on the bowl and turned around. She did her best to keep from looking directly at Lydia. She made her way back to the bed and rummaged around in the backpack she rested there. “What are you doing?” Lydia asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Carol asked. “I’m—packing, I guess. Not that I have very much left.” She laughed to herself, not really feeling the humor that practically boiled in her stomach along with ever other uncomfortable feeling. “Most everything I had was burned up. My family. My whole life—it’s just been burned away.” 

“There’s more life,” Lydia said. “Why are you packing? You’re not—leaving.” 

“I have to leave,” Carol said. “It’s—time for me to go. There’s nothing here for me, now.” 

“There’s more life,” Lydia repeated. “More—opportunities. We’re going to rebuild.”

Carol smiled to herself. She did her best to offer that smile to Lydia. Lydia had seen too much. She’d suffered more than she was ever supposed to have to suffer. She’d suffered far more than she could ever possibly deserve to suffer. She was, Carol believed, destined to be a person with a good heart—and those were scarce these days. Carol also knew, though, that such a person, if they were even going to survive, was destined for endless suffering at the hands of a cruel world.

Carol tried to offer her the most reassuring smile that she could.

“You’re going to rebuild,” Carol said. “The Kingdom. Hilltop. You’ll rebuild it all.”

“Daryl’s going to help,” Lydia said.

“He will,” Carol agreed, nodding. “And he’ll—take care of you.”

“We’re all getting a second chance,” Lydia offered.

“You will,” Carol assured her. “Daryl—he’ll make sure of that.”

“You can’t leave,” Lydia insisted.

“I have to,” Carol said, shoving the last of the few items she’d grabbed from Alexandria’s storage. She had no right to any of their things and, if they knew she’d taken them, they’d deny her even the toothbrush, underwear, and few bits of food she’d stolen. She could only leave them to add her theft to the list of everything else that they’d never forgive her. “Nobody wants me here, Lydia. They say I don’t belong here. And—honestly? I think that they’re right.” 

Carol gathered up her bag as soon as it was closed. She slipped her quiver over her head, tossed her bag over her shoulder, and gathered up her bow. She walked a large half-circle around the room to avoid Lydia. If she left now, she could at least get a couple of miles away before night fell. That would give her a chance to look for somewhere to sleep.

“You can’t go!” Lydia said louder and more forcefully when Carol walked past her. The words were almost screamed out. They echoed around the house where Michonne had offered Carol a room—more as an act of “for old time’s sake” than because she really wanted her there and sheltered from the angry community.

Carol stopped at the head of the stairs and turned back to look at Lydia. For just a moment, she thought she imagined there were tears on the girl’s cheeks. She didn’t have to imagine that her hands were balled tight at her sides.

Carol didn’t know what to say to Lydia. She had no idea what was going on with the girl—of the million possible things she could be dealing with—and she didn’t know how to help her. So, for just a moment, she stood there looking at her until she saw Lydia relax. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Carol offered her. “I believe that.” 

“What about you?” Lydia asked.

Carol smiled to herself. 

“I’m going to—survive. It’s what I do.” 

“Alone?” Lydia asked.

“I always wanted a family,” Carol said. “Of my own. I hated—I hated being alone. Maybe, now, I understand that, for some of us? That’s just how it’s supposed to be. It’s better that way.” 

“That’s not true! What about Daryl?” Lydia asked. 

She asked the question like it was meant to stop Carol in her tracks, and it did. No matter how much Carol might want to deny it or downplay it, her love for Daryl was one of the few things she truly had left in the world. Maybe her love for Daryl was one of the main reasons that she knew she had to leave. She had to walk out that door. She had to leave the gates of Alexandria. She had to never look back.

Daryl deserved better.

“Daryl’s going to be fine,” Carol said. “He was made for this world. You were, too. You’ll—look out for each other.” 

Carol turned and, gathering up every bit of courage that threatened to leak away from her, she walked out the door of the house. She heard Lydia’s loud and angry protests. She didn’t try to unravel what it was the girl might want from her. She had nothing left to offer—and everyone was right. The best thing that she could give anyone was a chance at living their lives without her anywhere nearby to fuck things up.

Nobody stopped her as she walked out of the gates. Nobody stopped her as she made her way down the road. If Daryl knew she was leaving, and she had to believe that he must know, he was letting her go. 

And Carol was grateful, because if he’d tried to stop her, she wasn’t sure she would have had the strength to go. 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“Damn it! Open the door!” 

Carol’s hesitation to unlock the deadbolt on the heavy wooden door was owing mostly to paranoia, and she knew that. In reality, no matter how much they hated her, most people weren’t going to follow her down the road, wait until she’d cleared a house, and then wait until dusk, just to beat or murder her. Still, Carol was not a trusting person and, with everything that she’d been through lately, she wasn’t going to answer the door at the first pounding knocks.

She recognized his voice, though, and yanked open the door.

He dropped his hand, no longer needing to beat on the door. The hand immediately went to his mouth where he found some cuticle to nip at for whatever comfort it offered him. At the edge of the house’s porch, Lydia stood almost looking like she wanted to fold in on herself. 

“How did you find me?” Carol said, crossing her arms across her chest. “I thought I took enough turns.” 

“Maybe I just know how you think,” Daryl said. “At least—most of the time.” 

Carol’s stomach clenched. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said. 

“What other choice did I have?” Daryl asked. 

“You should have—let me go,” Carol said. 

“Like I said,” Daryl said, “what choice did I have? We’re here now, can we come in?” 

Carol stepped back with a sigh and Daryl came inside. Close behind him, with a decent amount of hesitation, Lydia followed. Before Carol could close the door, sealing all three of them inside in case Walkers were to be passing nearby and had an interest in them, the third of her guests arrived—barreling up the steps and through the door before he danced around the living room, pleased with the adventure they were on.

Carol smiled to herself.

“You brought the dog?” She asked.

“Wherever we go,” Daryl said, not finishing it. “Didn’t know if you was gonna want to go back tonight or not. And he liked the walk.” 

Dog came over and nosed Carol, requesting affection, and she reached her hand down to pat his head. He looked like he smiled at her, his tongue dropping out of his mouth as he looked up at her. 

“I’m not going back,” Carol said. 

“Had a feelin’ you might say that,” Daryl offered. He walked over and sat down on the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Carol asked.

“Sitting on the couch,” he said. “If you stay, we stay.” 

“You have to go back,” Carol said. 

“Why?” Daryl asked.

“It’s civilization,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I never was a fan of that shit, anyway,” he said.

“They’re your people,” Carol said, feeling like she was choking on her need to get him to understand. She glanced at Lydia, wishing the girl would help her, but Lydia was simply standing with her fists still balled at her sides and her eyes wide as she waited to see what would unfold.

“They were your people, too,” Daryl said. “And you left.” 

“They wanted me gone,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“And after Lydia, here, used every choice fucking word she knows to tell ‘em all that they’re fucking assholes and idiots,” Daryl offered, “I ain’t too sure they were sorry to see any of us go.”

Carol looked at Lydia. 

“You did that?” Carol asked. Lydia looked at her, owl-eyed, and then she nodded her head. “Why?” 

“Because it’s true,” Lydia offered with the same quiet and delicate voice that she normally used when she was unsure of her words and not driven by an emotion strong enough to make her scream them. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Sweetheart,” Carol said, suddenly, “everything I’ve ever done has been wrong.”

It spilled out of her before she even thought about the words she was saying. She believed them to be true, though, and she knew that when she heard them spoken aloud. Still, they broke her heart. She broke her own heart.

Because she’d always wanted to do the right thing. She’d always meant to do the right thing. She just, somehow, kept fucking it all up, despite all her good intentions.

“That ain’t so!” Daryl protested. He got up from the couch and came toward Carol, but she backed away from him. 

“You cared about Connie,” Carol said. “And she’s dead. Because of me.” 

Daryl stopped his forward progress.

“Lotta people dead,” Daryl said. “There’s a lot of reasons why, too. I won’t pretend I weren’t pissed off about what you done. I’m still pissed off. Pissed off because you lied to me. Pissed off ‘cause you keep runnin’ away from me. You gotta—you gotta stop runnin’ away from me. Either that or tell me the truth. Tell me you don’t want me to follow you no more. You don’t want me around.”

“It’s better for you…” 

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me,” Daryl said. “I already know it. What I want to know is—without you tryin’ to save me—do you want me to go?” 

Carol frowned at him. She shook her head. 

“I never wanted you to go,” she said. “I never—wanted to leave. All I ever wanted was…”

She stopped. Her heart caught in her chest. Her blood felt ice cold for a moment. She’d stopped herself. She’d kept herself from saying anything that would be overwhelming for Daryl. 

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Carol, pulling her to him in a hard hug that felt safe and good.

“A family,” Lydia offered quietly. “And a home.”

Daryl pushed Carol away just enough to see her. He touched her face. He tipped it toward him and, as he’d done before, he brushed away the dampness accumulating on her cheeks. 

“You can have all that,” Daryl said. “A future. I told you before.” 

Carol stared at him. Her stomach churned. 

“Are you serious?” She asked.

“We ain’t much,” Daryl said. “But—it’s a start.”

“Could we stay here?” Lydia asked, her voice a little louder than before, rising up just slightly. 

“Here, there,” Daryl said. “Doesn’t matter where.” 

“Could we be like a family?” Lydia asked. “Like—a mother and a father?” 

Daryl looked a little wide-eyed. Maybe he even went a touch pale. He stood his ground, though. He hummed and just barely nodded his head.

“And a daughter and a dog,” Daryl said. “From the looks of it. At least for the time being—who the hell knows what the future holds, right?” 

Carol shook her head at Daryl. 

“I can’t do it again,” she breathed out. He stared at her, hard, and then he nodded his head. 

“We all gotta be brave if this is what the hell we want,” Daryl said. “Family ain’t exactly been the best damn word to any of us before. But—it’s gonna be different. From here out. For all of us.” 

Carol’s heart kicked into high gear as she realized that he was still touching her face. He was looking at her hard. 

“This is what you want?” Carol asked. 

She didn’t expect Daryl to lean forward and, very tentatively touch his lips to hers. She closed her eyes. She’d thought about Daryl Dixon kissing her for years. She’d finally decided that it would never happen. She’d tried to move on because she felt like she had to—like she needed something he simply didn’t want to offer her. She’d always loved him, though. 

She didn’t mean to sigh against his lips, but he took it as an invitation to clumsily deepen the kiss and she happily indulged his tentative efforts.

“Only thing I’ve wanted for more than a decade,” Daryl said, pulling out of the kiss, but not moving his hand away from Carol’s face. 

“Lydia?” Carol asked, glancing at the girl.

Lydia was still somewhat standing like she might fold into herself, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot, but she looked more hopeful than she had before, and she looked a little further away from screaming like she had in Michonne’s house. 

“I can’t remember the last time I had a family,” Lydia offered. “I wouldn’t mind having one—I mean…if you want.” 

“What do you say?” Daryl asked. “We’re not much—an uneducated redneck, a junkyard dog…”

“A girl who was—raised by freaks,” Lydia offered.

“We’re all a bunch of outcasts,” Daryl offered. “But—we could make somethin’ of a family outta that. Build a future. If—it suits you.” 

Carol swallowed against the fluttering in her gut and smiled to herself. She shrugged her shoulders.

“To be honest,” she said, “it—sounds too good to be true.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. He offered an arm out toward Lydia to invite her over. He pulled Carol into him so that he could hug the both of them—so that they could all hug.

“Just good enough to be true,” Daryl offered.


End file.
